One Word
by Phantress
Summary: Erik asks Christine to be his bride...and her answer isn't what he expected. Completly Kay based. AU, oneshot.


This is possibly the most random thing I've ever written, as I'm pretty bad at E/C. It was, however, written for a challenge over at livejournal…so, I thought I might as well post it over here.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Phantom of the Opera_. Trust me, I cry about it every night.

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_"No," – he sighed – "you are just beginning to know me, that's all. There's so much darkness here inside my head, sometimes it frightens me too. But it need not be like this, Christine. If I could just live like other men, walk through the Bois in daylight and feel the sun and wind upon my naked face . . . Oh Christine, I would do to dare so many things if you were beside me as my wife."_

My eyes began to sting during his short plea. I sank down further onto the ground, as I had been kneeling next to Erik who sat in his armchair. Every word he had just said was still sinking in…_like other men…if you were my wife_….

Overwhelmed, I put my hand to my face and began to cry.

"Christine," he chided, gently. He slid from his seat and knelt on to the ground next to me, his hand floating in the air, unable to bring himself to touch my face. "Christine, don't cry. It pains me to see you cry."

I looked back at him and saw his eyes, too, were red with looming tears. Oh! To wipe those tears away as he had done for me so many times before…I knew one word would bring that to him. But, what of Raoul? What of the childhood I still had left? I was not even twenty years-old… I knew not how old Erik was….old, for certain. I did not love him, I feared him, I worshiped him…he put the fear of God in me, yet, at the same time was my best stronghold.

As more thoughts poured through my mind, I was unable to contain my sobs. Completely crumpling to the ground, I cried for Erik, and more so for myself.

Why God put one man's happiness in my hands alone I would never understand.

Erik touched my shoulder gently, and I slowly sat up and took his hand in mine.

"Yes."

Erik's eyes widened in complete shock, and I smiled despite myself.

"Yes….what, Christine?"

"Yes," I repeated softly, still sniffling, "I will be your wife."

"My w-wife," he stammered, "my living wife?"

The question made no sense to me at all, but I nodded. I would say anything to him now. The joy I saw spreading over his face was worth more to me then oxygen.

Over come by an emotion he had obviously never experienced before, he took me into his arms and buried his face in my hair.

"My darling, my angel…my _Christine…my! Mine!_" I said not a word, but simply lay limp allowing him to stroke my hair and caress me with words. "You will be happy as no other woman has ever been. I will make you happy…life will be perfect, and complete and…_oh! Mine!_ _My Christine!"_

I pulled back to study his masked face. Unthinkingly, I pulled it off, setting the porcelain façade next to me but never taking my eyes from his. I touched his marred flesh with one hand, and put my other around his neck.

"Will you be happy now, Erik?" I asked earnestly, I see now how childish I sounded…"Will you be happy for forever now?"

"Christine," he began, "angels are immortal."

It was surreal to both of us how our life together unfolded. We were married by a well payed priest in the Louis-Philippe room. Unknowingly to Erik, I had written to Raoul explaining anything. Nadir, Erik's dear friend, promised to deliver it for me as I had promised Erik I was to be his only from the moment I said 'yes'.

Our days were spent as we had spent them before our marriage. I had always wondered what the difference was to Erik, though I had never asked. I suppose now, it was the symbolism and the deeper meaning Erik saw in it, not the identical gold bands around our fingers. We strolled on the Blois in the early hours of the morning, as he had envisioned. The first night I had to practically beg him to remove his mask, and when he finally did it was like a true liberation. I see now that without his mask, walking in a beautiful park, and with me on his arm life had reached it's highest point and no man had ever deserved more final happiness then he.

Erik died five months after our marriage, I had always known I was to be a young widow…I had always known that. My girlhood died that day too. The day we put Erik in the ground was my Father's funeral all over again.

Similarly as I had after my Father's death, I turned to the next person to comfort me. My childhood friend. We married the following year.

As much as I am Raoul's bride, I am Erik's widow.


End file.
